Palma de Animus
by PhoenixStAr2
Summary: [NEW CHAPTER SIX, FINALLY] Beyond the veil is something more powerful than the magical world could have ever guessed. As Voldemort attempts to harness the power, the new DADA professor seems to be the sole hope for Harry and his friends.
1. Prologue, Meet the Slayer

Palma de Animus - Prologue  
  
By: PhoenixStAr  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
A/N: Here I am, succumbing to another one of my most-read fandoms: HP/Buffy crossovers. I'll try to update this once a week, but anyone who knows the least about my fics know that it'll be amazing if I update even once a month. But constructive reviews do tend to make me itch to write more, so they are very much welcome. :D  
  
Sept. 29, 03: I've revised the prologue, making it longer and a bit more informative.  
  
**  
  
Black was all he knew. The endless, black oblivion he seemed to be helplessly plummeting through was relentless. His eyes darted about, frantically searching for an escape from the cruel darkness, but there was none. The air was stifingly warm and grew more so the longer he fell, and his nose itched, but there was little he could do about his predicament.  
  
He was paralyzed and motionless; his shaggy hair was the only part of him that moved, and even then, only because he was falling at an increasingly fast pace. He was still in the position that he had finished his last battle in: body arched and wand in hand, so there was naught he could do to scratch his nose, much less save himself.  
  
'Wingardium leviosa!' The simple levitation spell he had acquired in his first year rang through his head, urging him to cast it upon himself, but it was difficult, when he could neither move his lips to speak the incantation or move to point his wand at himself. However, perhaps by his sheer determination and the knowledge that his godson was waiting for him, he could feel his fall slow. Instead, he began to gradually rise upwards, almost to the beat of the chanted charm in his mind.  
  
He finally allowed himself the luxury of relief and hope, the air now blowing against his back instead of his front. And just as he began to breathe again, he realised he was slowing down, if not falling. No, he was falling. Granted, it was at a slower pace than before, but he was falling, nonetheless, in the wrong direction. 'Wingardium leviosa! Wingardium leviosa!' The spell became weaker and weaker the further down he fell, and it seemed now that for every meter he had risen, he was falling two more in chastisement.  
  
'WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!!' The spell was of no use now, and he was falling just as he was in the beginning, downwards and quickly, but as he fell further down, he began to hear tortured screams, and he continued to recite it in his head, despite its uselessness, to drown out the hoarse voices. They were becoming louder by the moment and reminded him too much of Azkaban, and were possibly even worse. The heat increased uncomfortably, stifling him, straining his strength, and became too much. Before he had a chance to see the flickering flames at the end of his fall, before he succumbed to the darkness, he shouted in his mind, once more, the only spell that could save him...  
  
**  
  
"Wingardium Leviosa!"  
  
Buffy whipped her head around at the sound of the spell being spoken. Upon seeing that it was only an elderly woman casting the spell to lift her tartan luggage off a bright purple bus, she immediately adominshed herself for being so paranoid. Giles had warned her, after all, that downtown London would be filled with witches and wizards of the good kind.  
  
She and the Scoobies were here in an attempt to reanimate the Watcher's Council and to train the new Slayers, but being in London was stressful on her. The smoggy summer air of the metropolitan area was bad enough to her Californian disposition, but the underlaying magical current that seemed to be everywhere kept her on a constant edge. True, it could be just the hidden magical community Giles kept reminding her of, but she'd had her share of 'muggles' playing with any sort of magic.  
  
Heh... muggles. It was an adorably cute word, but upon finding out that she, too, was unmagical, despite her Slayer-ness, she instantly realised that she didn't like being called a mug-anything and immediately enlisted Willow to teach her some Wiccan skills. After a day or two of making things blow up inexplicably, though, Giles had finally lost his patience with the constant disruptions and had given her a pointy stick with which she could practice some other strand of magic -- it had a name, Buffy knew, but recognizing names had never been on her priority list. She did know, however, that it was different from Wicca magic and drew upon her magical Slayer core instead of the magic around her, and was very proud of herself for remembering this. So, as Giles decided that magic would aid her in her Slaying, Buffy would spend an hour or two of every night "whipping out her stick" to practice some magic, much to Buffy's chagrin and Willow's amusement. Of course, these trainings would only come after she herself had finished training the new Slayers -- or as she fondly put it, her Mini-me's, and after Willow had finished training the group of neo-generation Watchers. They were opening a fresh page in the Slayers' histories, but it would be a welcome change: the girls could use Watchers that could fight relatively decently on top of researching.  
  
Buffy was drawn from her thoughts when her Slayer senses tingled; it was not from magic this time, as that had started to become a dull nag, but was the familiar twinge she had become accustomed to whenever a vampire was around. Pushing the magical tingle back in her mind as far as possible, she zoned in on the vampire, who had just followed the elderly witch from before through the doors into a pub -- which had just disappeared!  
  
Okay, so the vampire and the lady were in a pub that had just decided to cease existing -- what was a Slayer to do? She scanned the area again, and being late as it were, the street was decorated by only a few stragglers. Looking across the wall of shop-fronts again, she was definite that the entrance of the pub was no longer visible and had instead decided to play hide and seek. So, seek she would. She neared the space where the vampire had once been and tentatively moved her hands forward into the strong aura of magic that stood before her. 'Hmm... feels like jello,' Buffy quipped to herself. She pictured the entrance in her head: "The Leaky Cauldron" was written in a vintage script on a black steel plaque that hung over a quaint wooden door with hinges made of similar metal.  
  
And just as Buffy solidified the picture in her head, so did the actual entrance in front of her. It was just where she had pictured it, appearing out of nowhere. It stood there as if it had been there all along. The blonde haired slayer looked around her, left and right, but the other buildings seemed completely undisturbed. Shaking off the weirdness of a disappearing door, she gathered her wits about her and opened the door to the din of the pub.  
  
At first sight, the pub seemed completely normal, save the odd choice of clothing everyone seemed to have. It was surprisingly large; there were the expected groups of drinking buddies gathered around a radio which boasted a loud 'GOAL!' that was followed by a bunch of loud hoots and hollers, but there, in one corner, were two booths -- one seating the woman, the other seating the vampire. Ignoring the call from a nearby table that seeked her to 'give us a wet one, ducks,' Buffy quickened her steps; the vampire had slid over from his booth to the woman's, and seemed to be laying on the charm. The charm, however, didn't seem to be working very well. The elder woman's lips had pursed in impatience, and she looked like she was about ready to leave.  
  
"Leaving so soon, luv?" The vamp had grabbed a hold of the arm that was gathering her cloak and bags.  
  
"You will let go of my arm, young man," was his companion's only response. She was about to threaten to transfigure him into an unsightly toad when she noticed his face was no longer smooth, but instead, sported a demonic visage.  
  
Before she could yell or whip out her wand, though, his arm was jerked away by a young girl standing behind him. "I don't know what kind of weird fetish you may have for old ladies," Buffy quipped, "but I thought young men would be taught to treat - your - elders - with - RESPECT!" With each word, she had punched him once.  
  
Snarling now, the vampire grabbed Buffy instead, leaving the woman to grab her wand from her robes. He sniffed the air a few times before grinning. "So you're the Slayer, eh? I've never had myself a Slayer before."  
  
Buffy rolled her eyes at the oh-so-original line and snapped his head back with a sharp kick. "Yep, that would be me, Slay-gal extraordinaire," she agreed, driving her point home with a jab to his stomach with her elbow. "So that would make YOU the Slayed." Grabbing the stake she had handily hidden up her sleeve, she staked it through the vampire's heart. "And I've had plenty of those."  
  
As the annoying, ugly thing turned to dust, Buffy whirled around to find that nothing had been disturbed, despite her quick tussel. Drinks were still going around, and everyone was still having a jolly old time. Apparently, magical people were just as blissfully ignorant as muggles when they wanted to be.  
  
"Thank you, Miss... ah..."  
  
"Summers, Buffy Summers," the Slayer grinned at the woman with a strong temptation to add a 'shaken, not stirred' to her introduction. "Just doing my job." Before she could turn to leave, though, there was an arm on her shoulder.   
  
"Would you care to join Minerva and I for a drink, Ms. Summers?" Buffy looked up to see Father Christmas, red robes (albeit covered with yellow crescent moons), white beard and all, and was speechless. "After all, it would be most rude of me to not thank you for saving one of my top professors' life." Before she could reply, he continued. "My name is Albus Dumbledore, and this is Minerva McGonagall. We are professors -- three Butterbeers, please, Tom -- at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. As you can most likely forsee from the name, it is a school for the magically inclined."  
  
"There are schools for magic? Weirdness. Is this an England thing, or would there be some in America, too? 'Cuz I have this witchy friend of mine, Willow, and if she'd gone to a school instead of playing around with magic, it would've saved us a damned amount of trouble." By now, Buffy had joined the two professors in the booth, offhandedly ignoring the pile of dust on the ground.  
  
"Yes, I believe there is a school under the name of the Salem Magic Institute. However, I've heard that there have historically been some complications in locating magical potential on the Hellmouth."  
  
Buffy choked on her beverage. Oh, not that it tasted bad or anything, but -- "Excuse me?"  
  
"You are the Slayer, are you not? I believe that's what the gentleman called you before he... ah... had to leave. I'll cut straight to the point, Ms. Summers. The magical world is facing dark times, and we are in dire need of a person of your calibre.  
  
"Have you ever considered a profession in education, Ms. Summers?"  
  
----------------------------------  
  
Ending Notes:  
  
Much thanks to Pam, pk, kratzee, WhiteWolf, Anon, Athene, HecatonchiresLM, Carmen, and Jeanne for reviewing the original prologue. ^^ I'm glad I made it obvious enough that at least SOME people caught it: Sirius will be involved (whether or not he's coming back alive is another question) and yes, the "elderly woman" is indeed McGonagall. :) But I suppose that's obvious, now that I've modified the prologue.. ^^;  
  
To answer Carmen's question: Palma de Animus is very badly written Latin for 'Saviour of Souls'. 


	2. Chapter One, Lime Green Robes

Palma de Animus - Chapter One  
  
By: PhoenixStAr  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
October 6, 2003  
  
A/N: I actually had a LOT of fun writing this chapter... muchos gracias to shelli, the only reviewer of the newly revised prologue. ^^ I know it's been a while, and I'm sorry, but a month isn't really THAT long... ^^; Reviews are always welcomed and appreciated.  
  
**  
  
Harry Potter woke up with a start, smothering an impending scream with his flimsy pillow. The dreams were back. He had started to take dreamless sleep potions nightly since the end of the last school year, but they had started to lose their effectiveness, now that he was almost a month into it. The dreams had slowly started to creep back into his sleep -- uneventful and unmemorable at first, but tonight's dream...  
  
The thin sixteen-year-old boy put his glasses on with a shudder. It was worse than that time with Frank Bryce. Wormtail had failed Voldemort again, but it was nothing a well-placed Crucio couldn't fix... Bellatrix was sobbing... something about a portal... something that couldn't be... Slayed?  
  
With a shaky hand, Harry jotted down whatever remnants of the dream remained on a page ripped out of one of Dudley's old game magazines. He would send it to Dumbledore when Hedwig woke up. The darkness, the high-pitched laugh intermingled with the horrified screams, the one hoarse yell that stood out from the rest, his godfather's voice, 'HARRY!'   
  
It was familiar, and the thought made Harry sick to the stomach. Sirius was dead. It would do him no good to mull on it, or to dream about him being anything but dead, because he was dead. And it was all Snape's fault. His entire body trembled, no longer from fear or shock, but from anger. The bloody git --  
  
His thoughts were cut off when a sharp rap brought his attention to the window. Pig, Ron's owl, fluttered in front of it with a scrap of parchment on his right leg. Harry quickly let the overexcited owl in, before it could start rapping against the windows again. Moody may have scared his Uncle Vernon back at the train station, but the thought of someone discovering Harry's secret was infinitely scarier to Vernon.  
  
It was just nearing dawn, now, so Harry put Pig into the cage with Hedwig, careful to warn him not to wake her up. He unravelled the note to read a message penned in a hasty, but elegant script.  
  
Hello, Harry,  
  
Be ready for one of us to pick you up tomorrow. Must go now, the twins have returned with some more new products to test on the horrible painting.  
  
Love, Molly.  
  
It was hastily written and vague -- but the little information on the twins and the "horrible painting" was enough to assure Harry that this was actually a note from Mrs. Weasley, and not another trap of Voldemort's. Perhaps he was being paranoid, but there was nothing wrong with keeping a constant vigilance, after all...  
  
Another sharp rap hit against the window, jolting Harry out of his thoughts once more. It was someone on a broom this time, wearing bright green robes with an equally shocking shade of green shade of hair. She wasn't exactly familiar looking, but he could only think of one person that could possibly look like that. He strode towards the window, and opened it, grinning at the woman who was now standing on the broom in a balancing act. "Wotcher, Harry!"  
  
"Tonks!" The female Metamorphmagus was already climbing in through the window, dragging her broom behind her.  
  
"Ready to go?"  
  
"Now? The letter said tomorrow!" Harry looked down at the piece of parchment in his hand again. It was dated 'The twenty-seventh of July,' and that had been... a few hours ago. "Oh. Never mind, then."  
  
"Not packed then, I guess?" Tonks waved her wand, whispering a packing spell. Clothes folded over theirselves messily; books slammed shut, heedless of whatever papers may have been caught in between pages; potion bottles clinked together as they hurriedly dropped into Harry's potion kit. "Oops, hope nothing broke there. Must rush... we only have five minutes to get out of Surrey before Moody and the others lose the cloak, so you'll have to be quick on your broom. You do have it, don't you?" She smiled indulgently when Harry pulled his Firebolt out from under the bed. "Perfect, I'll take your trunk with me and I'll hook Hedwig's cage onto you." Tonks was going about things so quickly that Harry didn't have much opportunity to say much. "Remember, quickly now. We only have five minutes."  
  
Within seconds, they were flying beside the rising sun, wind blowing in their hair and ruffling Hedwig and Pig's wings. In short, Harry hadn't felt this happy in quite a while. He followed Tonks as she whizzed this way and that, and tried to match the pattern of which they were flying to the one they had flown last summer, when they had flown to Grimmauld Place. Strangely enough, he couldn't. "Er... where exactly are we going?" There was no response, so he assumed she couldn't hear him over the wind. "Where are we going?" he asked, louder this time.  
  
Still no response.  
  
Tonks was pressing faster than ever before him, and he found himself pushing his Firebolt to catch up. He could see her spiky short hair lengthening, darkening into a chestnut brown. Perhaps she was changing her apperance again, on a whim? But then her previously lanky body started thinning out even more, making the lime green robes hang off her body much like Dudley's clothes did off Harry.  
  
In a rocky jolt, the woman in front of Harry veered to the left -- he had trouble following, with Hedwig on his tail, but he could see why she had suddenly careened. There was a small dot flying towards their direction, picking up speed and nearing them faster than any normal broom should be able to go. "YOU HAG!" shrieked the billowing black mass of robes, distinguishable only by a head of green hair. The new arrival dived after the speeding witch, closing in quickly, seemingly fuelled by her anger. "How dare you?!" She was followed by a group of assorted wizards and witches, all clutching onto their brooms with one hand and wielding a wand with the other.  
  
As the group of wizards and witches neared him, Harry began to make out some of the people. "Calm down, Tonks!" The deep, normally calm voice belonged to Kingsley Shacklebolt, bald head glistening in the sun, as he shot after the witch that just flew past Harry.   
  
Tonks? That couldn't have been Tonks, Tonks had picked him up from his home, and... Harry's eyes widened in horror when he realised what had almost happened. Kingsley was followed closely by Mad-Eye Moody, McGonagall, and a girl that Harry didn't recognize. It was possible to imitate one auror, if one was lucky, but to imitate and entire group of Dumbledore's hand-picked wizards... How could he have been so stupid?  
  
One of the robed figures lingered behind to where Harry was hovering, in shock of the trap he almost fell for. "All right there, Harry?"  
  
"Professor Lupin!" A breath of relief escaped from his lips.   
  
"Just wait here, Harry. They'll take care of this." The two hovered there, watching the fray.  
  
Off in the distance, Harry could see spells being cast at the fake Tonks, but she -- whoever she was -- was doing an amazing job of dodging the spells. She'd turned around, grabbed her own wand, and when the wind finally blew her hair out of her face, Harry recognized her -- Bellatrix Lestrange! Her face was gaunt and hollow, but there was a manical gleam in her eyes as she avoided the spells and cast her own. Even from where he was, he could almost hear her shriek 'Avada Kedavra!' as she pointed her wand at Moody. Moody, however, was quick enough to lay low on his broom and roll to the side, a move that Harry would have never expected the disfigured Auror to be capable of.  
  
Meanwhile, the girl that Harry couldn't place a name on was oddly awkward. She clung onto her broom tensely, as if afraid to break it by clutching it too hard. Her spells were limited to 'Stupefy!' and 'Petrificus Totalus!', and she looked hardly older than Harry himself. He watched in interest as she threw her hands up in exasperation as she missed Bellatrix, yet again, and stuff her wand in her pocket. Why on earth would they bring a girl that was so obviously unexperienced?   
  
He got his answer.  
  
The girl moulded her body to her broom and tucked her feet in, using the niche in her heeled boots to latch onto the end of her broom. With a loud "Yeehaw!", she zoomed towards Bellatrix, who was preoccupied with keeping McGonagall and Kingsley at bay. She twisted her body just before she neared the Death Eater, and just as Bellatrix realised what was happening, she collided with her and shouldered her off the broom.  
  
Everything seemed to go in slow motion from then. The wand flew out of Bellatrix's hand as she screamed bloody murder. She fell with her back arched, in a position that was very similar to that of her cousin's death a few months ago. She hit the ground with a sickening crack.  
  
"Guess I should've caught her," came the voice of the small blonde girl that Harry still didn't know the name of. She began to fly towards the ground at a leisurely pace, leather jacket fluttering off her small frame.  
  
Traditionally, witches and wizards were never the physical sort, and seeing as that girl really wasn't a bludger, the entire group was a bit overwhelmed, as one could imagine. Grins peeked out of the grim faces, and Harry could swear he heard Moody say that he 'always knew there were some smarts in that girl.'  
  
Down on the ground, though, Bellatrix was not yet defeated, despite the fact that she was having trouble breathing. The pain was nothing compared to a Crucio, she could deal. The blonde girl was the first to land, the real Tonks a close second. "You're lucky I don't kill humans," she said, grinding her heel into Bellatrix's hand as she attempted to reach for her wand. "And you're even more lucky that I'm too much of a lady to beat you within an inch to death." She picked up the wand that Bellatrix was struggling for, and snapped it in half without hesitation. "Here you go, Minnie!"  
  
Minerva pursed her lips at the use of the nickname, but received the broken wand from the cheerful girl anyway, with just a roll of her eyes. Moody cast a binding spell and a containment spell on Bellatrix, and Kingsley amusedly replaced Bellatrix's bright green robes with a uniform black one, handing the green ones back to Tonks, who very firmly told him that she would never, ever wear those contaminated robes ever again, thank you very much, and that he was free to do with them as he pleased. Of course, a man like Kingsley had little to do with a set of lime green robes, so he would set them on fire, he said, but was stopped before he could even reach for his wand when Tonks grabbed the robes huffily, mumbling something about not really meaning what she had said.  
  
There was a bruise on her cheek, Harry noticed, a few scratches along her arm, and a small clump of hair missing near the base of her head. "Bellatrix attacked Tonks last night when she was sending off Pig on Molly's behalf. She took her robes, and enough hair to add to the polyjuice potion she had in a flask before speeding off after Pig." At the moment, Tonks was prying off her shoes off Bellatrix's feet in a rough manner.  
  
"Harry?" He turned around to see the dangerously bludger-like girl. "Hi, I'm Buffy Summers."  
  
He shook her offered hand awkwardly. The girl had just violently attacked and threatened a Death Eater, after all. "Er... you're American?"  
  
"Just a little bit," Buffy grinned. "Tell me a bit about Hogwarts, Minnie's a bit skimpy on the details."  
  
"That's Minerva to you, Ms. Summers!"  
  
"Right, right, whatever you say." Buffy hooked an arm around Harry's, and Harry suddenly understood how it was possible for Ron to burn such a bright red. "So while these adult figures work their mojo and do the cleaning up thing, you can give me the 411 on Hogwarts. There's only so much information you can get out of Minnie and Hogwarts: The History. I think a first-hand perspective would be nice, if that's where I'm gonna be this year."  
  
"You'll be coming to Hogwarts?"  
  
"Yup," she nodded her head emphatically. "I don't have anywhere better to be, so I figured, why not?"  
  
The wise words of the Weasley twins slipped their way out of his mouth before he could stop them. "Absolutely corking!"  
  
**  
  
TBC... 


	3. Chapter Two, Silly Book Names

Palma de Animus: Chapter Two  
  
By: PhoenixStAr  
  
Rating: PG  
  
November 9, 2003  
  
A/N: Many, many thanks to Singing Mime, Jo, spacecatdet, Butternut, X-Lander, kratzee, tigerlily, Rosie W, Pam, Jenn, and redcristal for reviewing. ^_^ I especially loved how those reviews were all constructive. You guys kick an amazing amount of ass.  
  
Thanks also, to Fanfiction.Net, for stripping me of my identity and making me a number, by adding a "2" behind my penname. Gosh durnit, I'm not PhoenixStAr2, I'm PhoenixStAr!  
  
On a totally unrelated note, I'm looking for a personal beta cum cheerleader cum muse cum annoying voice in my head to, basically, impound the fact that I need to write these things more frequently. The ability to read over my fics for grammar, spelling and reference errors would be great too. Ooh! And while I'm at it, maybe even a Britpicker! Do let me know if you're interested. People like me need immense amounts of help to get stories finished.  
  
*cracks knuckles*... here we go again.  
  
**  
  
"She's brilliant, isn't she?"   
  
Hermione Granger rolled her eyes as she continued flipping through the copy of "So They Think You're Criminally Insane? Spells and Charms to Convince Them Otherwise" that she had picked up randomly off the shelf of Flourish and Botts. If one asked whether she was rolling her eyes at the idiocy of the contents of the book or at the idiocy of the two boys in her company, however, she wouldn't be able to tell you which it was that she found terribly mundane.  
  
Honestly. Buffy Summers was pretty, Hermione admitted to herself, and very 'cool,' as Dean might put it, but they had been like this all bleeding summer! It was just like Professor Dumbledore to introduce a new and breathtaking addition to Hogwarts the very summer that Ron and Harry had discovered hormones.  
  
"So she just tackled Bellatrix? On her broom?"  
  
Apparently, this was a fact had to be reconfirmed every single day.   
  
The bushy-haired sixth-year stifled an impatient sigh as she shelved the book back where it belonged -- far, far away from her -- and zoned herself out of their conversation as best as she could. Actually, the petite blonde girl hadn't been around much, and they never knew where she went. Perhaps it was that aura of mystery that intrigued the boys. Hermione and Ron had seen her for a week before she escorted Harry to Hogwarts -- Grimmauld Place had been compromised until they could rid the building of Kreacher, Mrs. Black, AND those ineffingly irritating pixies -- and twice afterwards. No more, no less. She never came around to the dinners that accomodated the entire Order, but instead came to the breakfasts. And even at those, she was never able to talk; her time was far too preoccupied with the elder Weasley brothers -- namely Fred, George, and Charlie -- who had taken to accompanying her whenever she was around. Of course, this habit of hers was more than enough to ensure that Ron was up every single morning for breakfast, a fact that pleased Molly Weasley to no end.  
  
Buffy was too old to be a first-year, but there had never been any records of exchange students at Hogwarts, save for the Tri-Wizard Tournaments. And yet, Harry was certain that Buffy had said she'd be attending Hogwarts this year. She couldn't be attending as a professor, either, seeing as she knew enough about the Wizarding World to make Ron seem like a genius at the matters of the heart. Frankly, for all they knew, Buffy Summers could be attending Hogwarts next year as their newest Defense Against the Dark Arts specimen. Hermione had voiced these spectulations to the other two once, but had immediately been admonished for her treasonous thoughts towards Buffy.  
  
She fought the urge to roll her eyes yet again.  
  
"Speaking of Bellatrix, where is she being kept? Not Azkaban, obviously."  
  
"Nobody knows where all the captured Death Eaters are being kept, don't you remember, Ron? Your father told us about this in the beginning of the summer! They've all been relocated at Dumbledore's disclosure, for safety's sake."  
  
"Guess Malfoy's father won't be breaking out like he thought he would be." Harry grinned -- one of the many that he'd broken out into this summer, Hermione noticed with relief -- and pushed up the new glasses that Hermione had presented him for his birthday this year. Among his many gifts this year, he'd also received an Expandable Spell Holder -- "Large enough for any spell you could imagine," Moody had grunted -- a Speed Enhancer for his broomstick from Ron, and -- most likely for her own amusement -- a leather jacket which Buffy had owled over. His birthday had also flagged the arrival of the O.W.L. marks, followed closely by the Hogwarts owls, which were devoid of any mention of Prefect status for any of them. Hermione was disappointed, to say the least, but had squashed her own trivial disappointment when Harry had announced, looking up dismally from his letter, that he had not received enough O.W.L.s to take Potions this term. As much as he hated the Potions Master (common knowledge, really), he needed the course if he wanted to persue a career as an Auror. The dream now seemed lost.  
  
Despite all circumstances, however, Harry was in a peculiarly uplifted mood. The last time Hermione could remember him being so offhandedly care-free was back in first-year, when Harry had first discovered that he was a wizard. Since then, burden over burden had been placed on his shoulders, each one marking the inevitable appearance of a worryline on his otherwise young face. It wasn't so much that he was happy nowadays, per se, but more like he recognized the redundancy of moping.  
  
"That'll be 42 galleons and 3 knuts, miss." Hermione winced slightly at the bill she'd run at the bookstore, stopping only when she realised Ron and Harry were rolling their eyes good-naturedly at her.   
  
Heavily book-laden, Ron tossed an arm over her shoulders and Harry's. "I say we go and take a nip into Quality Quidditch Supplies and check out the new Firestorm. It's the newest broom that's been produced since your Firebolt, you know, mate. Wickedly fast -- I hear they needed to install rubber grips just to keep you from falling off the broom -- grip charms weren't enough on their ow--"  
  
Hermione smiled patronizingly as she extricated herself from under Ron's arm, ignoring the hurt look on his face. "Why don't you two go ahead? There's just one more book that I've forgotten to pick up. For my father, really," she amended, seeing the horrified look on her companions' faces. "He wants to know about magical dentistry and the like. Go ahead, I'll meet up with you." She never really liked Quidditch, anyway.  
  
Pretending to be oblivious to the 'Mad muggles' comment made by Ron, she slipped back into the familiar bookstore with a sigh of relief. She could spend a half hour or so in here browsing, she surmised. They should be done ravishing the broomsticks with their eyes by then. Stepping behind a particularly stuffed bookshelf, she picked up a copy of "Dancing Doilies and Other Fun Party Tricks" and began flipping through it aimlessly..  
  
The bell at the door tinkled, signifying a customer's entrance to the store, and Hermione paid no heed to it. "What's with the hiding, Buffy?" Buffy? Hermione instantly began paying attention.  
  
"Got a little close to Harry and Ron -- you know, those kids I told you about. Cute and all, but I'm too much of the secret-identity girl. Don't really like all the hero-worship they're going through." Hermione could almost hear the smile in her voice. If only she could see past the cursed bookshelf!  
  
A breathless laugh. "Breaking hearts already, Buff! How are you going to deal when school starts?"  
  
"I'm hoping it'll wear off by then. I mean, I only knocked a woman off a broomstick. I don't really get it. Oh, lookit... books!"  
  
"Always with the subject changing. You're a sexy woman on the loose; of course the nubile young gentlemen are going to be interested. Whatever will they do when they realise that -- Oh! 'Demons of the Entirely Harmless Variety'! I've been looking for this one for the longest time. Lorne swears that they did a photo expo on him when they published it back in the 90's." Realise what? Hermione crept over to the edge of the bookshelf, keeping as quiet as humanly possible. She had learned enough over this summer to know that Buffy had VERY good hearing.  
  
Buffy was indeed standing there, with a girl who looked about her age and had Weasley-like red hair, both dressed entirely in Muggle clothing, ignorant to the curious stares of passer-bys. "Thank goddess they found that spell for me, though. If I had to go through Hogwarts without it --" the blonde stopped there to shudder emphatically -- "I'd be totally lost."  
  
"Isn't it weird now, though? Voices in your head and all?"  
  
"Not so much voices as it is instinct -- y'know, sorta like the instinct thing us One Girls are prebuilt with. Dunno, ask Gunn. He's much better at explaining it."  
  
"I'm surprised we were able to work with any traces of that spell, cuz it was all powerful and all that. I really didn't think I could handle it, I mean, even the remnants of it were literally throbbing with power, and the last time I did anything with any kind of power like that, Kennedy was there with me, with the moral support and all -- not that you're not moral support, Buff! But, y'know, with me and the girls and stuff, it's not the -- and I'm rambling again, and you're supposed to have stopped me by now!" The redhead was wringing her hands as best as she could, with a stack of books in her hand.  
  
Buffy took the books from her without much thought, as if it were an old practice that she'd hold the packages while they were shopping. "I'm sorry about Kennedy, Wills, but we need her to be New York right now, scoping out the scene."  
  
"Well, we weren't exactly being the best of buds for a while. She scares me sometimes, what with the power-hungriness and all. Sorta like Faith and me combined, but without the experience."  
  
"That's why Wesley's taken a vacation from Wolfram and Hart to spend the year with her. He handled Faith pretty well; he should be able to deal with Kennedy." Hermione was having difficulty recognizing all the names that were being thrown around in the conversation. Quenching the guilty feeling of eavesdropping, she stepped behind another nearby bookshelf and hid behind a book there.  
  
"But! Onto things that give me less tummy-rumblings... how goes Hogwarts plans?"  
  
"Hogwarts plans go well," Buffy grinned. "It's so much easier now, with the spell. You'd be amazed at what the Council knew about the Wizarding world. 'Course, their info could be all wrong and then I'll be screwed -- we'll ALL be screwed, actually, but you know, life's all improv anyway."  
  
The two girls continued their conversation, but Hermione wasn't around to listen. She hastily stuffed the book back in its vacated spot on the shelf and rushed to the Quidditch supplies shop.  
  
She, Harry and Ron needed to have a talk.  
  
**  
  
TBC...  
  
Reviews and CCs are very much appreciated and encouraged. Please? I'll give you a cookie. ^^ 


	4. Chapter Three, Wherein Things Get Boring

Palma de Animus: Chapter 3   
  
By: PhoenixStAr   
  
November 14, 2003   
  
Longer than ordinary A/N: Many thanks to Cookie Monster, Lala, ladyofthedragons1, Calli, Village-Mystic, smile7499, Philip, Kristi, Erro, and dancetdplc for your wonderful reviews. They always bring a smile to my face -- and more often than not, giggle loudly. ...even if I'm in the middle of a quiet computer studies room. :)   
  
@ Village-Mystic: O.W.L.s are the fifth-year evaluation marks that the Hogwarts students receive in order to determine which classes they can take the next year and to narrow down their career choices.   
  
Thanks especially to Pam, tigerlily25, and Rosie W for their continuously constructive reviews. I am utterly, absolutely amazed at the depth and dedication of your reviews. ^^ I wouldn't have expected such great reviews from my measley little fic. ^^;   
  
I'm glad all of you like my characterization... I do my best to keep them in character, or I'd be a hypocrite -- I myself can't stand OOC-ness. ^^; A lot of the humour is based on my own snide remarks and behaviour, so I'm even MORE glad that you guys like the wit I'm using! Cookies for all of you! XD   
  
I just realised that I haven't included a disclaimer in any of the chapters of this so far.. *sweatdrop* So here goes, an all-encompassing cover-all DISCLAIMER: Absolutely none of the characters, settings, and background plots that are used in 'Palma de Animus' belong to me. Buffy belongs to Joss and Harry to JK. Any claims that I may or may not make to them later on in the fic can be blamed solely on insanity and delusion.   
  
Thank you. :)   
  
Spike? Sirius? Did someone say something about extremely sexy dead people being in my fic?   
  
This fic is posted at Fanfiction.Net and Twisting the Hellmouth.   
  
Ice cream for anyone who catches to Card Captor Sakura reference!  
  
**  
  
FIC STARTS HERE   
  
"I can't find it!"   
  
Buffy looked up from the letter she was writing with a look of amusement to be greeted by the sight of Willow frantically searching through a pile of antique-looking books. Her best bud's red hair looked ridiculously mussed -- probably from the frustration she was going through -- but matched quite nicely with the deep red decor of the Council's library office. "What are you looking for?"   
  
"I need the name of the first recorded Slayer -- that's all! I can't find the Watcher's Diary anywhere on this shelf -- it should be here, but my skimming spell just isn't picking anything up!"   
  
"Long Ying Fa," Buffy replied, almost absently. "16-year-old Chinese girl in 221 B.C, the beginning of the Qin dynasty. Her watcher's name was Lee Kum Xing. He found her after she accidentally killed two vampires outside a steamed bun stand with a pair of wooden chopsticks and began to help her control her powers." The light haze filtered out of her head, and she shook herself back to an alert state to see Willow staring at her in astonishment. "Oh, man... this spell is the total definition of oddness. The transition gets smoother and smoother every time. Give me a week or so, and I don't think I'll even feel the difference anymore."   
  
When ownership of Wolfram and Hart transferred to Angel Investigations, the whole of the law firm's legal and operational information had been transferred to Gunn through some spell -- how it was done or what it was, however, was not disclosed to them. Angel had refused to tell them. Willow had been able to catch the gist of it, though, on a trip back to L.A., and had been able to recreate it with Fred's help, following the structure of the colossal spell and tweaking it to transfer centuries of Watcher information into Buffy.   
  
And now, here she was, Buffy Summers, Slayer Extraordinare cum Walking Encylopedia. She really, really could've used this spell during her history tests back in high school.   
  
"So, while I'm in Encylopedia-mode, is there anything else I can tell my favourite Willow-shaped friend?"   
  
"That's absolutely amazing," Willow muttered, still in awe at the efficiency of the spell. "I didn't know it would work so well!"   
  
A loud clacking of shoes drew the two Hellmouth veterans' attention to the office door. Buffy was able to spy a flurry of dark-blonde hair huffing away. "Dawn."  
  
"She thinks you're ditching the Watcher's Council, you know."  
  
"Ditching?! She has absolutely no clue what she's talking about! Once school starts, my schedule's gonna be full of the hecticness! I'm teaching in the mornings, sleeping in the afternoons, Watcher's-Council-ing in the evenings, and Slaying in the nights! She knows so well that the Council's broke Queen C-style, so she --"  
  
"She just wants her sister, Buff. You know how she's always with the worrying about you leaving her."  
  
Buffy closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. With a sigh, she asked, "Did she tell you all this?"  
  
"Well, no," Willow grinned sheepishly, combing through her hair with her fingers. "But I'm pretty good with the guessage."  
  
**  
  
"Hey Buffy," Dawn greeted her sister cheerily, cookie in one hand and milk in the other. "Cookie?"  
  
The Slayer had found her sister sitting at the impromptu kitchen that they'd set up in one of the Council building's old training rooms. Willow had used her magic to help revamp the room a bit when they first moved in, and since then, they'd added a refrigerator, microwave, coffee-maker, and of course, mini-bar -- solely for business use, Giles had assured them.  
  
"Sure." Buffy grabbed a cookie of her sister's plate and sat on a nearby counter. "How goes it?"  
  
"All's well in Dawn-land." The youngest watcher-in-training munched on another cookie, revelling in its soft, chewy state of goodness before she realised that her sister was watching her with a familiar look. "You're worried about something. Spill."  
  
"Will says you're all unhappy-like with me working at Hogwarts."  
  
Dawn nearly spit out the milk that she'd been sipping on. "She does way too much of the Dear Abby-ing," she choked out inbetween laughs. Apparently, Willow wasn't as good with the guessage as she thought she was. "I think it's so way cool that you get to work there. After all, teaching a bunch of prepubescent kids waving around magic sticks can't be that much more dangerous than fighting demons and hell goddesses. And we need the money, 'cause we can't use the Council's back-up funds forever."  
  
A pause fell over the kitchen.  
  
"Okay, who are you, and what have you done with the illogical teenager that is Dawnie?"  
  
"I ate her," Dawn replied, looking Buffy very seriously in the eye before rolling her own. "I can manage to be mature once in a while, you know. Hard to believe, but yeah."  
  
Before Buffy could make a witty retort, Cassidy, one of the newly recruited Slayers from Australia, barged in, informing her of a visitor. She shrugged, mildly wondering who it could be. Outside of the Slayerettes, she could count the number of people who would -- or could -- visit her in the mornings on one hand, and half of them were in LA at the moment. She picked herself up off the counter and walked towards the main entrance with Cassidy and Dawn trailing behind her, the latter still wiping cookie crumbs off her lips.   
  
She passed by one of the newly-appointed recruitment rooms that Xander was currently holding a session in with the Slayerettes he'd discovered in some Asian countries ("Chinese chicks that can kick my ass Zhang Ziyi style? No problem.") and made a mental note to have a private talk with her cyclops-ed best friend when she overheard a questionable 'Now, most of the Slayers I've met have worn tight leather pants.' Somehow, she didn't think that the translation spell Giles and Willow set up over the building was meant to be abused that way.  
  
**  
  
Minerva was astonished with the changes that had been made to the Watcher's Council building. When she had arrived, the outside looked the same as ever -- rigidly well-groomed and stately. The inside, however, was now void of the stuffed shirts that had once roamed the Watchers' grounds. Instead, it was loud with muffled fighting sounds -- presumably from the training, or so she hoped -- and brimmed to the top with young girls, some wiping off sweaty brows with towels, others dealing with clipboards and piles of paperwork.  
  
"Ms. Summers," she greeted, as the young girl reached the main hall. No, just as Buffy would never deign to call her 'Minerva,' she would never deign to call the girl 'Buffy.'   
  
"Min-min! What's up?"  
  
"Albus has set up a Floo connection to the fireplace in your study. I am here to assist you on your first Floo trip to the school."  
  
"Oh, the flying powdery thing," Buffy grimaced. "Always gets my clothes all sooty and dirty. Good thing I already know how to get ashes and dust out of my outfits. I can't just fly to the school via broom?"  
  
"Back and forth every night, Ms. Summers? I can't possibly think of any way that could presume to consume more of your time than that. The Floo will be temporary, for however long it may take you to acquire Apparating skills."  
  
"Are we leaving now? I thought the opening night wasn't until September," Buffy queried, as the older witch followed her into the study.   
  
It was Minerva's term to grimace. "There have been... complications in our fight against the Dark Lord. Of course, one can never really expect complications to cease when fighting evil, but Lucius Malfoy has somehow managed to escape from Albus' stronghold."  
  
"What?" Buffy stopped from her task of gathering her trunk and broom.  
  
"Dark Lord? That sounds so cool," Dawn grinned, oblivious of Buffy's obvious state of surprise. "Who's Luscious?"  
  
"Official occult leader of those worshipping the Ugly," Buffy replied offhandedly before returning her attention to the professor. "How did he get out?"  
  
Minerva looked like she desperately wanted to be hit over the head with an extremely heavy and blunt object. "We really just don't know. It seems like they've somehow managed to channel some sort of energy. It certainly wasn't wand magic."  
  
Channeling energy that wasn't wand magic? That was enough to send alarms off in Buffy's head. "Let's go." She effortlessly picked up her trunk in one hand and held the broom in her other. "Dawnie, get Willow and Giles to do a scan for recently tapped Hellmouths and Hellmouth energy. I'll be back later." Nodding to Minerva, she dashed a pinch of Floo powder into the fireplace and said, "Hogwarts Floo Port," just as she'd been informed of earlier.  
  
In a dizzying swirl of ashes and images, Buffy landed gracefully on her behind in a dimly lit room. The stone walls radiated chills that reflected the lack of use that hung about the room. The brightest source of light was the roaring fire that seemed impossibly full of life in a room as dull as this. Minerva tumbled out of the fireplace before Buffy had any more time to consider her surroundings. "All right then, Ms. Summers? We're in the Floo Port of the school. It hasn't been used since the early 1800s. They closed it down when Grindewald, and later Voldemort, became a threat. This Port can _only_ Floo you into your Council study, mind you. If you try to Floo elsewhere, you'll suffer the Floo equivalent of being splinched. Understand? Follow me."  
  
The path through the school was dark, signifying -- again -- an unused part of the building. Buffy's Slayer instincts picked up the general gist of the way -- left here, right there, and then right again before going up those stairs and avoiding those, left, left again, straight, right, growling behind that door, best go straight -- and then finally, stepping through a painting of a sleeping man that looked part-human, part-ostrich inscribed 'Boberich the Bird-like,' the pair reached the main entrance of the school.   
  
"Dinner should have just begun," Minerva noted, and as she opened the doors to the Great Hall, Buffy had to blink back the tears in her eyes.  
  
So many children...  
  
As a Slayer, she'd always known that she was fighting for the Light, that when she stopped, the Dark side won. She'd always known that she was the avatar for the innocents, their warrior, their protector. She'd always known that it was up to her to show up in the nick of time, stake -- and sometimes sword -- in hand, ready to save the day. But never had it occurred to her just how many people's lives were at stake at any given moment, nor how many people were depending on _her_.  
  
And there they were, sitting there, chatting aimlessly, seemingly ignorant to the impending war. "Have you tried the meatballs? They're bloody delicious tonight," one boy, who Buffy recognized as Seamus Finnigan, commented to the sparse Gryffindor table. Another girl -- Cho Chang, Hermione's voice told her in her head -- was sitting at the Ravenclaw table with a few others, heads bent closely together, chatting quietly. The Hufflepuffs had the largest numbers at the moment, and it seemed that -- Susan Bones, was it? -- Susan Bones was currently the one in the center of attention, saying things that inspired bolts of laughter from her housemates. The Hufflepuff table was a far cry from the Slytherin table, which seated but one lone figure.  
  
Spike?  
  
Buffy's heart skipped a beat and she blinked a few times to readjust her eyesight. It must've been a trick of light, and it was. It wasn't Spike that sat at the Slytherin table, but rather a rat-faced boy that looked very, very much like the late souled vampire.  
  
She shook off all nasty thoughts towards the segregation of houses and remembered why they were all here. They weren't here for school, or for socializing. They were here because they were _afraid_. Buffy looked up from the house tables to the elevated platform that sat a queue of teachers. There were three empty seats.  
  
"Ah, Buffy!" Dumbledore called, rising in his seat to greet his newest professor. "Come, enjoy the meager meal that I can provide you with." All the students' heads snapped up to stare curiously at the new arrival. Some, of course, stared longer than others, what with some being hormone-filled teenagers, and she not being hard on the eyes.  
  
"Albus, I heard about the --"  
  
"Surely, whatever the matter is, it can be discussed over dinner. Better yet, if it is urgent, then it is probably best left until after the desserts have been served." The tone in the old headmaster's voice was enough to prove to Buffy that he knew very well what it was that she wanted to talk to him about. "Sit, sit!" He gestured to the empty chair that was usually inhabited by Professor McGonagall by his side.  
  
Minerva had left already, it seemed, as Buffy glanced around the Hall for the teacher. "If you say so," she sighed, taking the seat grudgingly. She hushed the nagging war-oriented voice in her head that hadn't been active since the fight with the First. If Dumbledore insisted on having dinner, then of course, they would have dinner. Stomach-aching worries would come later.  
  
"Wonderful! Can I offer you some meatballs to go with your pasta? They're positively delectable tonight."  
  
Nodding her head, Buffy snuck a peek into her cup to see a tempting glass of Butterbeer -- ah, the perks of being faculty. She smiled warily at Dumbledore as he spooned meatballs onto her plate for her -- gentlemanly as ever and without a care in the world -- and lifted her cup to him. "Cheers."  
  
**  
  
TBC...  
  
A/N: Sorry about the more-boring-than-usual chapter. But some questions needed to be answered, and plot needed to be unravelled. :) Reviews are, as always, very much appreciated.  
  
By the way, has anyone else been having problems with accessing Twisting the Hellmouth? 


	5. Intermission, Conveniently Placed Bowler

Palma de Animus // Intermission  
  
Hey guys! I haven't updated in a while, I know. This is just a short note to let everyone know that I haven't abandoned the story, and that I will update after my finals. Just in case anybody had any questions about it, taking art courses sucks beyond belief when it hits finals time. The next date will be up before Valentine's Day -- I can promise that much. :)  
  
And to comply with FFN's rule for not using chapters as place-holders and author's notes, here's a quick rough excerpt of things to come:  
  
----  
  
Alastor ignored the petite blonde girl in front of him. Years of auror training and experience had taught him patience; he could be patient and ignore Buffy's blatant stare.  
  
They were in a large room that could only be accessed through Dumbledore's office -- Buffy had called it "Central Control" when she had been introduced to the room. He, Buffy, Dumbledore, Tonks, Shacklebolt, and Mundungus were sitting around a table, and were currently discussing Lucius Malfoy's escape from his incarceration.   
  
"I keep telling you, the apparation wards were flawless! I put them up myself!" Tonks proclaimed, indignant.  
  
Alastor ignored the argument beside him, just as he seemed to ignore Buffy, who seemed to be attempting to catch his eye. He merely continued looking at the schematics of the prison he and the other members of the Order of the Phoenix had built. There had been only one viable exit in the entire structure, and as Tonks said, there had been apparation wards. Ventilation was done through magic, there were no windo -- Alastor growled when a scrunched up ball of parchment landed in front of him, rather discreetly, but breaking his concentration, nonetheless.  
  
Finally, he allowed himself to look up at the annoyed face of the Slayer. She knew he was avoiding her -- in fact, he had been doing it ever since he first met her, breaking his rule only when they were required to work together. Oh, no, it wasn't that he didn't like her, or that he found her annoying -- well, he did find her annoying, but that wasn't the point -- it was because he just couldn't answer her question.   
  
Knowing what was to come, Alastor unfolded the piece of paper without hesitation. Just as he had suspected, written in bold, girly script was the question, "Can I have one?"  
  
When she first inquired after it, she had asked 'Where did you get it?' When he told her that she couldn't just purchase it, she had taken to pestering him every time he saw her -- and sometimes even when he didn't see her, by sending him owls (a method of communication that he was greatly vexed at Dumbledore for teaching her). The girl just didn't seem to understand that magical eyeballs weren't dispensible by the knut!  
  
Alastor glanced up again at Buffy, who was looking rather eager this time, and, looking her in the eye, ripped the note into two pieces. Quick as a thestral, she'd narrowed her eyes and clenched her jaw. Perhaps if he were a couple decades younger he would've been afraid of her icy glare, but he wasn't. With a soundless grunt, he readjusted his bowler cap over his eyes and returned to studying the prison schematics.  
  
January 11, 2004. 


	6. Chapter Four, Welcome, Mr Weasley

Palma de Animus - Chapter Four // Welcome, Mr. Weasley  
  
A/N: Egh.. I know, I know, I'm two months late, and I really have no legit reason besides schoolwork, midterms, and writer's block. But I'm finally back! I'm two month's rusty, so things might seem a little choppy at the beginning, but I think I'm finally getting into the flow of writing again, slowly but surely.  
  
Infinite thank you's to Red2, manticore-gurl071134, WhiteWolf 3, lime green lion, Li Ying Fa, kaliflower, Restive Nature, Arieanna, Lucifer Frost, Tarren, RogueHawk, Rosie W, Jo, Nelo, Village-Mystic, RyianaT, JayPallas, Kyra2, dancetdplc, becks89, anne, cb123, LoraDarcy, Shelli, stef, Crystal Cheyenne, eth, and most importantly, to everyone who even bothered coming back to this irregularly updated piece of weirdness.  
  
Presto!  
  
**  
  
"Absolutely fantastic, Hermione." Ron's irritated voice echoed in the empty Hogwarts hallways, clashing with the soft moonlight that shone through the windows. "Now, not only have we missed a brilliant snowfight, we're also going to be late for dinner! And I'll have you know, missing meatball night is no small --"  
  
He was interrupted by an annoyed cluck of the tongue from the bushy-haired girl that walked hastily next to him, trying to match his long strides. "It's almost September, Ron. How brilliant a snowfight could it have been? Those third-years couldn't have transfigured enough snow to cover half a Quidditch field. We're already on our way to the kitchens --"  
  
Harry walked between the two of his best friends, their argument pelting right over him as if he wasn't there, as per usual. This arrangement was fine with Harry; he'd much prefer to be left out of these shouting matches than to have choose a side. Ever since Ron pulled some emotional strings with Molly to get her to let him stay at Hogwarts castle with the rest of the students who had chosen protection under Dumbledore's wing, Hermione had taken it upon herself to harp that he shouldn't have played on Molly's weaknesses ("But Mum, Harry needs emotional support!") The verbal sparring had been continuous since then, and if he didn't know any better, Harry would swear that the two were edgier this year than he had ever seen them.  
  
Ron continued as if he hadn't heard Hermione. " -- forcing us to waste away the day in the library looking up some 'Council' nonsense' to incriminate Buffy, absolutely barking. Honestly, Hermione, you don't need to raise your hackles _every_ time a good looking girl finds their way to Hogwarts. Buffy's a nice girl, she --"  
  
Hermione stopped in her tracks and quickly narrowed her eyes. "Hackles! Is that what you think of me, Ron Weasley?"  
  
With halted breath, Ron turned to look at Harry, obviously already kicking himself for opening his mouth. At Ron's grimace, Harry could do nothing but shrug. "I--"  
  
The sound of stone grating on stone stopped their conversation. A few meters ahead of them, in the direction they had been heading, a wall collapsed and McGonagall emerged from the hole, wielding her wand as a torch and stepping daintily over the eerily dustless pile of rubble. Behind her followed Tonks, Shacklebolt, Moody, Remus, and the rest of the Order of the Phoenix. Without a second thought, Harry pulled Ron and Hermione behind a large column with him.  
  
"No lemon drops for me today, Albus, thanks. Take care." As the members departed one by one, Buffy stepped out of the hole following Dumbledore, and the wall magically reformed itself.  
  
She squinted out a nearby window, looking apprehensive, before turning to look at Dumbledore and McGonagall, the only two other remaining people in the hallway. "I'm sorry, Albus, Minnie. I can't afford to come to anymore of these late night meetings." Buffy looked out the window again. "Those girls aren't fully trained yet. I can't have them out there in my place."  
  
"What girls is she talking about?" Hermione whispered. Ron clamped a hand over her mouth and she swatted it away, refusing to look at him.  
  
"I understand completely, Ms. Summers, and I would not have it any other way. I did think, however, that you would find it in your best interest to come tonight as your partner in crime, so to speak, will be meeting with me soon," Albus replied, inclining his head towards her. "And here he comes now." He raised his head, eyes sparkling.  
  
"Good evening, Headmaster."  
  
The trio recognized the sycophantic tone of voice immediately -- despite the newly added tone of weariness -- and in a flash, Hermione and Harry knew to pull Ron back and cover his mouth. The latter only stopped struggling against the restraint when Dumbledore began to speak again.  
  
"Ah, Mr. Weasley... thank you for joining us."  
  
"So this is the black sheep of the Weasley family? Nice to meet you, I'm Buffy Summers."  
  
Shifting his horn-rimmed glasses uncomfortably as if shocked by her audacity to speak without being introduced, the newcomer shook her outstretched hand. "Percy Weasley." He dropped her hand immediately and turned to Dumbledore, still in a business-like tone. "Professor Dumbledore, the Minister has sent me here on his behalf in hopes that you will accept his apology. He believes that it is best in times like these that we maintain a strong alliance against the --"  
  
"Where is our beloved Fudge himself?" Dumbledore asked, smiling benignly as McGonagall rolled her eyes behind him and Buffy mouthed incredulously, 'I have to work with _this_ guy?'  
  
"As I am sure you understand, the Minister is a very busy man -- "  
  
"At one in the morning, Mr. Weasley?"  
  
"He thought it would be best not to draw media attention, you see --"  
  
"Yes, yes, back to the point, child."  
  
"Well, as the Minister saw how both Hogwarts and the Ministry of Magic grew healthily with their relationship last year, he thought to consolidate his apology by offering my services in the school on behalf of the Ministry so that our relationship might further flourish."  
  
Harry, Hermione, and Ron looked at each other incredulously at once. 'What?'  
  
Dumbledore clapped his hands together in delight. "Might I commend you for your splendid timing? We were just looking for an assistant to aid our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. You see, this new Professor has extremely impressive firsthand experience, but is more comfortable with lore and weaponry than with actual spell casting. We could most certainly use your help."  
  
Percy almost grinned. "I'm sure the Minister will find that arrangement most fitting. What fine gentleman have you lined up for the job this time?"  
  
"That would be 'fine lady,'" Buffy spoke up loudly, tired of being ignored. Jumping off her seat on the windowsill, she grabbed Percy's hand and shook it again. "Let's try this again. Hi, I'm Buffy Summers."  
  
Still not getting it, Percy blinked. "And you would be...?"  
  
"The Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. Professor, comma, the. Come on," the small blonde girl placed an arm on Percy's shoulders. "We can talk about lesson plans and the latest hairstyles over a nice spot of tea and crumpets, or whatever it is you British people eat."  
  
All pretence of professionalism dropped, Percy began to stutter. "I -- this --"  
  
Dumbledore chuckled and McGonagall barely bit back a smile. "Do be gentle, Ms. Summers. He's a nice boy, really."  
  
Harry could have almost sworn that Buffy looked directly at him when she started dragging Percy their way, but she walked right past them, her full leather outfit clashing desperately with the loose robes that never seemed to fit Percy quite right.  
  
"I hope you know what you're doing, Albus," was the last the trio heard of McGonagall and Dumbledore, and it was then finally safe to step into the light of the moon.  
  
"I told you she couldn't possibly be a student!"  
  
"You also said that she couldn't possibly be a professor as well," Ron pointed out.  
  
Hermione turned pointedly to Harry. "I've suddenly lost my appetite, Harry. You go on to the kitchens without me. I think I'll be turning in now." And then, in a move she rarely made unless she was extremely emotional, she hugged Harry and kissed him on the cheek. "Good night." She spared Ron half a glance before huffily making her way back to the Gryffindor common room.  
  
"That -- that girl!" Ron stuttered, incredulously, watching her disappearing back.  
  
"I'm sure she's just upset, Ron."  
  
Ron looked at Harry for a moment and then furrowed his eyebrows. "You're probably right." He studied Harry for a moment. "I don't think I'm very hungry right now either," he mumbled, drawing his eyes away from Harry. "I'm off to bed now, I think." He patted Harry's back with a heavy hand and departed -- in the opposite direction that Hermione went.  
  
The moon began to shift in the sky and its light was blocked by the Whomping Willow. No longer in the light, but instead, standing in the dark, things began to get a lot clearer for Harry.  
  
**  
  
A/N: Just a few things I thought to mention:  
  
- No amount of begging, pleading, flames, or bishies will change my mind about the ships that I may or may not introduce in the future. (Well.. maybe bishies, but we'll see about that. :P)  
  
- There will be more Scooby Gangness to come.  
  
- Snape will be showing up soon.  
  
- I PROMISE to start writing better quality soon.  
  
Reviews, constructive criticism, and even flames are welcomed and encouraged. Thanks for reading. ^_^ 


	7. Chapter Five, OneEyed Snakes

Palma de Animus Chapter Five – One-Eyed Snakes  
  
By: PhoenixStAr  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
A/N: coughs sheepishly How long has it been since my last update? Months? Naw... couldn't be. I'm very, very sorry for the delay. I have no excuses to make except for the usual: life. But hey! At least I haven't abandoned it yet!   
  
Rosie W, Shirleen, Anne-Marie, SPASH Panther, WW, captuniv, Renna, Random Artemis, 546, Kyra2, and WitchyGrrl – you all rock immensely. Thanks for the reviews! squee  
  
Alright, here's the deal – I can't make up my mind on whether or not I like the concept of Redeemed!Percy. Same goes with the Redeemed!Draco idea. I have the general gist of the story laid out, but it works regardless of which way Percy and Draco lean. Any thoughts? Reviews and flames are, as always, welcomed.  
  
Commence ici  
  
The pitch-blackness of the moonless night was no match for the darkness of Percy Weasley's mood as he wrenched open the door to grudgingly greet the warm evening air. Since dinner, he and Buffy – 'his superior,' he could just imagine her reminding him – had been working through the year's lesson plans. The blonde, Percy had to admit, had an extensive knowledge of demonology and mythology, but was at a severe loss when it came to the much more practical subject of common dark arts like Boggarts and Unforgivables.   
  
He had just been trying to rationally reason with her obstinate view of the relative harmlessness of a basilisk in comparison to some nonsense she called an 'Ascension', when the horribly gaudy grandfather clock in her room had heralded eight. It had just gotten dark; it was the perfect time to wrap up for the night, and it seemed Buffy agreed (for the first time of the night), as she instantaneously slammed the text in front of her shut (rather violently too, Percy thought). But instead of bidding him goodbye – oh no, she couldn't be so decent as to that! – she had patted his head patronizingly and sent him off to Hagrid's hut. 'Well, why don't you go see if Hagrid has any nice one-eyed snakes for us to show the children, Pacy? I'll be expecting you back here in half an hour,' she had said.  
  
He didn't even want to begin speculating why she had started snickering after a short pause.  
  
"Pacy," Percy muttered, in a falsetto voice. "What kind of name is Pacy?" Indignancy dripped from his voice, but no one was on the empty Hogwarts grounds to sympathize with the vicissitudes of his life. Such as it was, his only audience was the darkness that clustered around him and occupied his mind. "Ordering me about, as if I was some spineless sycophant looking to kiss her feet; sending me to a half-giant's shack which so happens to be situated right next to the Forbidden Forest, and at THIS time of night – might as well send me to my death! Absolutely negligent to my well-being –"   
  
So enraged was he of his damoclean situation – and that Buffy had been the one to put him in it, Percy barely noticed it when he started skimming the edge of the forest. "—threatening me! Oh, the Minister will hear about this. This won't do at all. Utter impertine—ARGH!"  
  
Had Percy been paying attention, the stench of uncountable weeks' worth of accumulated sweat and blood would have hit him long before the grotesque and bleeding clump of a person did, stumbling out from the Forest edge. However, seeing as his interests were entirely divested on the impudence of one Buffy Summers, Percy was appropriately surprised when he suddenly found himself face first on the ground, inhaling soil, and with a rather heavy weight on his back that denied him the ability to breathe.  
  
He could, however, scream.  
  
"ARGH!"  
  
A wheeze. "Do… do shut up, Mr. Weas- wea- ten p-points from –"  
  
"—Slythering, I think it was. He said I belonged with that house, or something like that – I didn't bother listening; I just reminded him that I had the power to fire him, and he shut up." The entire council building was empty, save for the Scoobies who sat in the main research room, flipping through textbooks. Faith had clamored to take the mini-Buffys out on the hunt for the night so that they could research without disruption instead of having to join in on the research.  
  
The attempt at serious researching seemed to be all for naught though. A snicker came from the chair beside Buffy. "Are you sure his name's Weasley, not Wesley?"  
  
"Girls!" The giggling immediately stopped. Buffy, Willow, Xander, and Dawn all looked up from the books they were supposedly researching from and looked at an irritated Giles with innocent eyes.  
  
"Hey!" Xander protested, adjusting the patch over his eye. "My testosterone level is just fine, thank you."  
  
Ignoring Xander, Giles traded the heavy tome in his hand for another on the shelf closest to him. "Y-you only have one hour before you have to get back to the school, Buffy. You can chat later. What were the specifics of the prophecy that Dumbledore disclosed to you?"   
  
With an irritated sigh, Buffy pushed her chair back and got up. "Nothing. Zilch, nada, nothing. Won't tell me when it was prophesized, or by whom, or who it's about. All the info I have on Voldy is what the library has on archive of the Daily Prophet, and a lot of that is absolute bull. You'd think that someone who wanted me to help them would tell me a bit more about what they know."  
  
"Well, hey! At least now you know how lawyers feel!" Willow pointed out helpfully. "Fred was telling me about this one client they had – a vampire – who got into trouble with this set of goblins, because she –" At the raised eyebrows coming from all directions, she grimaced slightly. "Okay, shutting up with the digressing now."  
  
"So the main problems would be how to defeat this Voltron, right?" Dawn asked.  
  
"No, that's their main problem." Buffy stopped pacing and sat down on a desk to face the small group. "Our main problem is to confirm whether or not that was Hellmouth energy the bad guys used to break out of the prison, and if so, how the hell they got their hands on it."  
  
"Where's the prison?"  
  
"Don't know."  
  
"How do we know it's Hellmouth energy?"  
  
Willow snapped open her laptop and pointed to the screen. "I've been charting the Hellmouth energy activity in the area ever since we got here. There's been a bit too much activity for it to be just a tiny leak. That would have to be a lot of escapage; someone's playing with the Hellmouth."  
  
"And from what I'm hearing about the break-out," Buffy continued, "it sounds very likely that it's – oh!"  
  
The fireplace burst into flames and flickered green for a moment before a large, black figure came tumbling out of it. His skin was pale. Chunks of hair were missing from his head; a long, freshly bleeding cut traced his cheek down to his chest, where the trail of the blade grew thicker; soil clumped in between his fingers and in his nails; a tattoo burned into his forearm; his robes were torn beyond recognition.  
  
Dawn was the first to rush towards the fallen figure. "He's barely breathing," she whispered. She reached down to grab his wrist and feel for a pulse, but the moment she touched him, he flinched and smacked her across the face. He woke up on defensive.  
  
"Wh-who the hell are you?" came his voice, sounding as if he had just spent endless weeks screaming. Trying to push himself off the floor, he found himself too weak and chose to glare at an indignant Dawn, who held back only by Xander. "Where am I?"  
  
"That depends entirely on who the hell you are," Buffy replied, stepping through the commotion to bend down and meet the man. Patting her hands across his body – slightly shocked by how she could feel his ribs – she stood up when she was satisfactorily convinced that he was wandless.   
  
Before she could begin her interrogation, the fire hurled another figure out of its flame-ridden depths; this time, the figure had red hair. Buffy recognized the pompous posture instantly.  
  
"Pacy? Is this Dawson?"  
  
"My name is Percy, Ms. Summers," was the exasperated reply. "And I haven't the faintest as to who Dawson might be." Dusting the ashes off his clothes, Percy reached for his wand and pointed it at the figure, muttering, "Mobilus Corpus." As he floated the figure – still irritated, if one was to judge by the growling – towards the nearest chair, Percy made introductions. "This is Severus Snape, Potions Master of Hogwarts."  
  
Buffy instantly understood. "So they finally found you? Go get the first aid kit, Wills. Dawnie? Pillows, please, and can you set up a room, Xander?" The Scoobies had already started for their destinations before she even finished talking.  
  
"Dumbledore told us to Floo here, and asked me to request your aid on his behalf," Percy spoke, still brushing at his robes. "He would like for you to keep Snape safe until he is fully healed. Speaking of which –" Percy paused in his brushing. "Where is this place? 'The Council'?"  
  
"Ah, yes," Giles finally spoke. "We're a mediating council between muggles and wizards." Buffy rolled her eyes – he was cleaning his glasses again.  
  
"Yes, a meditating council," Buffy agreed with a small smirk.  
  
"Mediating, Buffy, not meditating."  
  
Buffy shrugged. "S'not like I'm teaching English." Sitting down to a textbook, she missed Percy and Giles sighing simultaneously.   
  
The giant squid of the lake ruled its domain with an iron fist – or tentacle, what have you. Whenever something foreign entered its kingdom, it was quickly ousted, without a second thought. This was the philosophical thought of the moment that reigned in Harry's mind as he sat on the green grass, leaning against a tree, next to the lake with Ron and Hermione. He was tossing bits of grass into the water, and as each piece hit the surface, a splash – too big to belong to the bit – would sprinkle water into the air and flick the piece of grass out of the water.  
  
The thoughts in Hermione's head were of a much different mien.  
  
"So she's a member of the Order, then," Hermione mused, sitting cross-legged.  
  
"And not McGonagall's oddly good-looking niece either, it seems," murmured Ron, who was lying on the ground with his hands behind his head, half asleep.  
  
Had Ron opened his eyes, he would've seen Hermione purse her lips together dangerously. "No, it doesn't seem to be so, does it?" He had, however, heard the tone of her voice.  
  
Quickly changing the subject, Ron asked, "Any luck with the Council information?"  
  
"No, none at all."  
  
"Have you tried asking Percy?" Harry drew his gaze from the lake to his friends. He couldn't help but notice Ron stiffen at the mention of his brother's name. "He's her assistant, after all."  
  
"If she's part of the Order," Ron replied, voice cold, "I don't see why she would tell Percy anything."  
  
The trio fell silent for a moment, and the only sound came from acres away, where an impromptu Quidditch game had been called between the girls and the boys.   
  
Hermione placed her hand on Ron's elbow and broke the tension. "What do you imagine Buffy could possibly teach in a DADA class? If I recall properly, you said she couldn't do a proper Wingardium Leviosa, even."  
  
"No, you're right. She couldn't," Harry agreed. "But she did know how to minimize her losses by using alternative methods. Maybe she's to teach us strategy?"  
  
"Maybe," Hermione replied, unconvinced.  
  
Ron made no response.  
  
A little mungled, but there you have it. Reviews, comments, flames, death threats, marriage proposals, what have you – I just like hearing from you. 


	8. Chapter Six, Curiosity Killed the Cat

Palma de Animus Chapter Six – Curiosity Killed the Cat

By: PhoenixStAr

Rating: PG-13

A/N: Heh. It's almost been a year since my last update. Whoops. Funny story though, I was in the shower the other day, and my mind just drifted towards this story and started writing up this chapter for me. In all honesty, I haven't written anything of any fictitious capacity since my last update. My creative writing class was over, and truthfully, however much one slacks during first year university, one will still never have the time to sit down and write. (Especially when one becomes endowed with boyfriend, whiny roommate with daily dramas, and flailing GPA.) But I said I liked this story, and I stick by it. I really do like this story, and I want to see it go somewhere. So if you'll stick with me and my wildly sporadic updates, I'd like to tell you this story.

Thanks. :)

"Did you hear?" Hermione asked breathlessly as she slid into her seat at breakfast. "Dumbledore has made Defence Against the Dark Arts a mandatory course for all students!"

Harry blinked at her for a moment when Ron burst out into a yawn and reached for a piece of toast. "Only you would get worked up about a curriculum change, 'ermonee," he said, his last words muffled as he swallowed the bit in his mouth. "Really, no need to be so excited on the first day of classes."

Hermione responded with a "Tsk" and brushed away the crumbs he'd sprayed in her direction. "Some of us care about our education, Ron. But more importantly "

"This means they want Buffy's here for student safety?" Harry asked incredulously. "I thought "

"Yes," Hermione interrupted impatiently, "I had my suspicions that she was here to keep an eye on you too, but apparently that extends to the entire school. As I was saying, Dumbledore must /really/ trust her, if he's making her class mandatory."

Before either of the boys could respond, Professor McGonagall clinked her spoon against her glass at the Head Table and stood up. Neither Dumbledore nor Buffy were at the table, though no other professor seemed to notice. She, on the other hand, looked positively haggard and tired; her bun was tighter than usual, and her pursed lips even more so. When the Great Hall quieted down, she spoke. "When you receive your timetables today, returning students will notice a change to their schedules that they may not find suiting to their tastes. As some of you may know, Defense Against the Dark Arts has become a mandatory course for all years." McGonagall raised her voice over the low muttering that had started from the Slytherin table. "Let it be known now that these schedules will not," she emphasized, "not be changed under any circumstances. It is in your best interests." The stern look on her face stifled any would-be complaints.

"What do you think she means?" Ron asked, as the noise in the Great Hall slowly returned to its previous level.

"We'll find out soon enough, won't we?" Hermione nodded to the sixth-year prefect (Dean Thomas, to everyone's surprise) who had begun handing out schedules at the end of the table. The noise in the Great Hall rose with each sheaf of paper that was handed out. As they waited for their timetables, they could make out some of the mumblings that surrounded them.

"That's ridiculous!' "

"Fantastic! Class with the Ravenclaws; maybe I can get me some homework help!"

"Wonder what your father will have to say about this, Malfoy." The trio looked up at the snickering Slytherin table, where Draco Malfoy merely slung his bookbag over his shoulder and walked out of the dining hall, stone-faced.

Just as they began to speculate over the incident, they received their schedules. Ron received his first. "Bloody hell! A full morning of DADA with /all/ the houses? Has Dumbledore gone mad?"

Hermione grabbed her schedule out of Dean's hand to verify what Ron had said. Looking at the paper, she shook her head. "All the sixth years, every Friday morning. There's no way Buffy can manage all four houses at once."

"Better than the seventh-years," came Dean's quick response before he continued down the table. "They've got it Saturday morning."

"I guess Dumbledore really does trust her," Harry said slowly, looking up from his schedule. "But there must be some mistake " he laid his schedule out on the table for the other two to see. "They've put me in for Potions before dinner. I haven't enough OWLs to take it, though."

"Hang on." Ron leaned closer to the paper and pointed at the block of time Harry had Potions in. "D'you see that?"

Underneath the boldly scripted word, 'Potions', there was no name of the professor teaching the course, like all the other courses had. Instead, there was a faint flickering of green ink that hadn't been there before.

"Professor Snape's name!" Hermione whispered in shock. "Does that mean "

'Professor Severus Snape' inked itself into the parchment stubbornly for the briefest of seconds, and then blinked out completely.

"I think that means Snape is no longer teaching Potions," Harry finished.

"I am Potions Master of Hogwarts, Albus! It is my job to teach those horrible children!" There was a note of desperation amidst the bold obstinancy of Snape's voice. His voice, however, was not very imposing, as it was still hoarse and weak. It corresponded well to the rest of him; he was currently lying on a bed in the Council's headquarters, almost entirely bandaged up and reeking of ointments and potions. The bits of skin that peeked out of the swaths of bandages were purpled and bruised, and one of his eyes was so swollen that he could not open it, despite the best of his effort.

"You are in no condition to teach, Severus," Dumbledore responded gently. "Nor is it wise to have you walking about the school when all of Voldemort's forces believe you are dead."

"So you hide me instead? Lock me away like some rabid murderer in Azkaban? I will not let myself be put under house arrest like some dog!" Snape spat with all the viciousness he could manage.

"But we'd feed you and play with you and walk you every day," Buffy piped up, clearly bored with the patient's temper tantrum.

"And maybe, if you're a good boy, we'll even let you help us do some oh-so-fun research!" Xander added, his good eye shining with amusement.

Dumbledore's own eyes mirrored some of the same mirth. "Then it's settled. You will be lovingly cared for under the watch of Ms. Summers' family, and we will temporarily replace your position at the school by someone even you will deem competent, Severus." He spoke before Snape could even open his mouth to reply. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Severus, Ms. Summers and I have some impressionable young minds to brainwash." He nodded his wizard-capped head at Buffy's friends. "Mr. Giles, Mr. Harris, young Ms. Summers." With that, he took Buffy's hand and apparated them out of the building.

"Wow, he sure knows how to make an exit," Dawn noted, still giddy from meeting 'ohmygod Gandalf!' She paid no attention to the fact that Snape looked like he was ready to kill her.

Giles, however, did. Cleaning his glasses feverishly, he stuttered, "Ah, Dawn, perhaps - perhaps you can help me with this, ah, translation I need help with." Glasses in one hand, Dawn in the other, he pulled her out of the room.

Xander snickered. "Guess it's just you and me, buddy."

"I do not need to be watched like a child," Snape sneered.

"We have ourselves a pouter!" Xander got off his chair and proceeded to pour himself a glass of water. "On the contrary, Mr. Sulky, you do, if you don't mind me saying so." He knew fully well that his companion would, indeed, mind. "If you could escape from the Big Bad being as dead as you were, you're even more capable of escapage now that you've healed some. But it's important to look deeper than the surface of things, because if you look, you'll see that clearly, we do trust you some. Instead of having someone with two eyes watch over you, there's only one eye on you. That's half of what it could be, you'll notice."

Snape could've sworn that the other man had just winked at him, but seeing as only one eye was exposed, it was entirely possible that he'd merely blinked. Either way, he was disturbed. Never had he met a man so bloody cheerful about a lost eye, and this man was no Alastor Moody. Since he'd met Xander, the miniscule iota of him that wasn't bitter and angry had been itching with curiosity about how this mere muggle had lost his eye. Muggles being simple creatures as they were, he simply could not fathom what could be so dangerous as to poke out an eye. He would not, however, deign himself to ask.

Hours passed.

Snape appeased the nagging scientific curiosity in his head by allowing himself to take a look at the muggle. He was now flipping through some glossy magazine titled 'Maxim'. The first time they'd met, Xander was wearing a black eye-patch. Today, it was beige plaid. Idly, Snape wondered what it looked like under that eye-patch.

But he would not ask.

More time passed. The annoying chit from before, Dawn, had returned briefly to give Xander a heavy, dusty-looking tome with a few whispered instructions. Before leaving, she snatched the 'Maxim' out of his hands. Pity. The woman on the cover had been rather good looking for a muggle.

He had not taken this man to be the diligent type, so Snape was surprised when he realised that Xander did not stray from his task with the book. He was even more surprised when Xander closed the book gently, careful of its age. The last person he'd seen take such care with books aside from himself and Dumbledore was Madame Pince.

"Ready for some lunch?"

Snape couldn't stand it any longer. His first prolonged contact with muggles, and he was already brimming with questions. There was so much about them that conflicted with what his mind had written in stone. They didn't, in fact, live in poorly hand-crafted log buildings. Their method of written communication wasn't through chipped stone tablets. Perhaps he should have taken Muggle Studies when he was a student Hogwarts. The same scientific mind that elevated him to Potions was now betraying him.

"How - " Snape bit out begrudgingly, "What could a muggle like you have possibly experienced to lose an eye like that?"

Snape's frustration being intense enough to be felt from across the room, Xander grinned. "Curiosity killed the cat, you know."

Comments please! I promise I'll walk them and feed them and play with them every day. (I also promise another chapter within a month's time.)


End file.
